


An Unfamiliar Brand of Soul Magic

by probably_bee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Attempted Murder, Author, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Character Bashing, Confused Draco Malfoy, Dark, Dark Harry, Dark Magic, Death, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Help, Insane Harry, Killing, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Murder, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Regret, Slytherin Harry Potter, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Spooky, The Author Regrets Everything, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, Why Did I Write This?, angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-04 13:26:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17898959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probably_bee/pseuds/probably_bee
Summary: What if the horcrux inside Harry's head changed his life in ways never seen before?Featuring a dangerous Boy-Who-Lived with too much soul and not enough morals. The wizarding world, unfortunately, has only just got over the last dark wizard.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Beware dear reader, for this is my first fanfiction.

At the age of three, he performed his first act of accidental magic, and with it came a new friend. Tom, who lived inside his head, knew a lot of things, and informed him that he was a wizard. The Dursleys were muggles, people without magic, and Tom said that they were bad, because they didn't respect that wizards were better. It was all explained perfectly well, in a way that was easy for a child to understand, so the toddler lapped it up, like a kitten presented with a saucer of milk. 

At the age of four, he was becoming better at magic, even though it wasn't easy to control. Tom reassured him that one day he'd be able to do things the muggles wouldn't dare to dream of. They had picked up on his talents, although they didn't view them as such, and had tried to break the young boy’s spirit. From then on, it was just little Harry Potter and his best friend Tom, and one day they would grow strong enough to teach the muggles, all of them, a lesson they wouldn't forget. 

He had started school that year, a place crammed with muggle children of ages four to eleven. They all seemed so stupid, but, then again, they didn't have Tom around to explain everything. The voice was rather intelligent - although he didn't know everything, he was able to grasp concepts rather quickly and explain them to the child. Some of the other boys, led by his pitiful muggle cousin, made fun of him, but it didn't matter, because Tom knew how to make them hurt. 

It was easy to make them go away, fun even. 

At the age of five, his muggle relatives, with the exception of his cousin, who was now scared to meet his eyes, decided that he needed to be taken down a peg or two. They tried to lock him away in the cupboard under the stairs, denied him food, kept his brain occupied with chores upon chores. They would regret that, later. 

Tom started helping him more when it came to controlling his magic. No longer did little Harry have to be angry to make things happen. With concentration he could make thing move, with focus he could convince muggles to do things they would rather not. Most wizards relied on wands, Tom had said, but if a wizard was powerful enough, they could manipulate magic itself without a tool. Every day, using his talents because easier and easier.

At the age of six, the two adult muggles realised that they could not stifle him. They didn't stop trying to make his life a literal hell, which they would regret later, but they ceased pretending that magic didn't exist. Tom was pleased with his progress, now he could directly put thoughts into people's heads and freeze and burn everyday objects. Learning to do new things took less effort now, and the Dursleys were horrified to find that Harry could complete most of his chores without lifting a finger. 

He didn't particularly take after either of his parents at this point. His eyes weren't overly similar to Lily’s like they might have been in another life, even their colour, whilst still green, was a few shades different. His hair was dark, but instead of sticking up in every direction, it sat on his head in loose curls. His features were aristocratic, handsome even at such a young age, and he had perfect vision. The ever-famous ‘lightning scar’, that had filled newspapers shortly after that Halloween night, had long healed, not even leaving the faintest mark on his pale forehead. 

There had been rumours, of course. With his creepily perfect appearance and otherworldly intelligence, he had never perfectly fit in with the crowd, even if the crowd had no idea he was a wizard. People talked, until they didn't. Rumours could be extinguished if you put out the flame. 

At the age of seven, his dear uncle, after drowning himself in alcohol one night, had tried to ‘make him into a normal child’. Vernon's funeral service was on a Saturday, and the person conducting the autopsy was payed a large sum of money to state the cause of death as double kidney failure. Only Harry and Tom really knew what happened, and they weren't obliged to tell. Auntie Petunia had had her suspicions, but nobody would blame a child, not one as polite and well-behaved as the lovely young boy who put Rhododendrons on his uncle's grave. Life went on.

His aunt got a job at a florist, worried she would have no money to care for her son. She was better than expected at it, surprisingly. Dudley still wouldn't say a word to Harry, not after the last time. The cousin needed gentle reminders every few weeks, but he respected the boy who lived, albeit fearfully. There was a dark presence in their house, but neither of the muggles chose to comment on it. It grew stronger along with Harry's magic. 

Tom had been happy with the child's progress. The voice had told him that by now he was far more  powerful than anyone his age, and many older. Even pureblood heirs didn't learn to control their magic until the were a few years older, and Harry had already got it down to an art. With concentration, he could view people's memories, and finally learnt why Petunia hated wizards so. Jealousy.

The school had suggested that he should move up into the older years, but he refused. The irritatingly easy classwork gave him lots of time to read harder and harder books. Poor old Mrs Meadow was shocked to see him take out books that were notoriously hard to read from the local library and finish them in less than a week. He seemed to understand every word too, and his work was always perfect. Frighteningly so. 

At age eight, Tom decided that he needed to become part of the wizarding world. The muggles had begun to grate on his patience, so he agreed, and the voice told him how to find Diagon Alley. 

The young boy found it strange that he was regarded a hero among the wizards. There were children's books written about him defeating dark wizards, and every history book published in the past five years had a section on the child who defeated you-know-who. Curious about this strange new world, he withdrew money from Gringotts, hoping to buy himself some sort of guide to wizarding culture. 

Tom had advised him not to take money from the Potter vault, since neither of them wanted anyone to know about the excursion. Instead, he was told to take as many galleons as he wanted from the Gaunt vault, which was much deeper down. He didn't have a key, but the doors opened when he hissed at them. Later, Tom said that this was parseltongue, language of snakes, and only descendants of Salazar Slytherin could speak it. With a new feather-light money pouch attached to his belt, Harry walked out of Gringotts, but not before paying the goblins a large sum of gold to ensure that they would tell nobody about what had transpired that day. 

There was an advantage to not having the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Without it, Harry could go mostly unnoticed in the crowd, pretending to be the son of a rich wizard who wanted him to run some errands. He had always been a good actor, and his cover story was true in some way or another.

Interested by the mountains of books inside, he pushed open the door to Flourish and Blotts. Inside, he peered up at the shelves upon shelves, not looking for anything in particular. Eventually, Tom, who had grown restless, convinced him to buy a couple basic books of spells and a few others on wizarding history and culture. There was a particularly thick one, which Tom said was very important, on etiquette and tradition. The shopkeeper looked shocked at the vast quantity of books such a young child wanted to buy, but shrunk them and made them light enough to carry. 

Harry moved onto the next shop, this one selling trunks. Although it was expensive, he bought the largest variety, which had enough space to store all of his books and all his clothes. The witch running the shop was surprised that such a young boy would need so large a trunk, but explained about expansion charms anyway. At Tom’s insistence, he set a password in english for the top level of the trunk and one in parseltongue for the bottom level. When the witch wasn’t looking, he shrunk it down to miniture and placed it in his pocket.

Although he was curious about the shop selling wands, he didn’t go in. Tom had previously told him that there were laws in wizarding Britain that prohibited letting anyone under the age of eleven use one. The voice seemed rather annoyed at that, but there was no way around it. Harry didn’t need a wand, anyway, and he knew that he was going to have to get one when he was older. 

He went to a few more shops throughout the day. A tiny shop in Knockturn Alley sold books on dark magic, and he’d taken one that was supposed to be introductory. From the robes shop, he bought a black woolen cape that was charmed to become longer as he grew, with a hood. From the wizarding equivalent of a pet shop he purchased a raven called Nox, who took a liking to him almost immediately, and sat on his shoulder. The shop assistant said that ravens could carry post, just like owls, but weren’t as popular because they were often bad tempered to anybody who wasn’t their owner.

Petunia had a disgusted look on her face when Harry returned. He’d taken his cloak off and stowed it away in his trunk before leaving the alley and given Nox a command to fly above his head like an ordinary bird would, so he didn’t look any different to how he usually would. However, her accusing stare only intensified as he came through the door, and he had a feeling that there was nothing he could do to make her see him as anything more than a freak. Unless…

No. He wouldn’t, not again.

His aunt was, regrettably, the only adult left in the household, and the primary source of income for the family. Besides, despite muggles being pathetic and unable to do magic, they didn’t die that easily. One death in the household was unpleasant, but two in less than two years was highly suspicious and would probably lead to an enquiry. Even Tom, who hated muggles with a passion, didn’t want Petunia to have a sudden accident, not just yet. She was far more useful than her husband had ever been.

Harry needed a way to get her to respect him. When he was nine, he found one.

Who knew it would be remarkably similar to how he’d dealt with those bullies so long ago?


	2. In Which Albus Dumbledore Has Suspicions, But Not For Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore visits Harry at number 4, Privet Drive, and doesn't quite grasp that he is not an ordinary child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like ages since I wrote the last chapter despite it being a week!  
> This is where the story really kicks off, so have fun reading!

‘ _ Soul magic is one of the most difficult types of magic to learn. However, those who do choose to study it will, quite literally, unlock magic’s greatest secrets. _ '

A Beginners Guide to Soul Magic, 1979 edition.

 

Harry shut the age;d book he had been reading. It was his eleventh birthday, and, if Tom's calculations were correct, he would get a visitor in a few hours. The voice seemed irritated by this prospect, so he assumed that whoever was going to arrive wasn't going to be very helpful. 

Standing up from his desk, he went over to look in the mirror. He wasn't obsessed with his appearance like some people he’d met, but Tom had told him that people based a lot of assumptions on the way people dressed, so he always made some sort of effort. God forbid the muggles looking better than him. 

Harry was shorter than average for his age, but not overly small. His features were sharp yet soft, innocent and handsome at the same time, and his hair was naturally wavy. He had never really resembled his parents, but he never really remembered them either. Apparently, they had been powerful, but limited themselves to light magic. Tom had never tried to hide the fact that they had fought on the wrong side and he had killed them for it, but it was a war, after all. 

There would always be casualties. 

The book he had been reading was ‘Hogwarts, a History’, the most recent edition. It wasn't the most interesting thing he'd read, and he'd been putting it off because of this, but since he knew that he would be going there in about a month, it would be beneficial. He didn't want to not know about the school before he arrived - that would make him look stupid, and he did not do stupid. It was already embarrassing enough that he'd grown up in the muggle world. 

Tom had said that he'd make a good Slytherin, and he agreed. The book was slightly biased against the Slytherins, but from the few paragraphs that described them, Harry could tell that he'd fit right in. The voice had said that the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, would want him to be a Gryffindor, because his parents were, but the boy who lived wasn't going to sacrifice the connections he'd make in Slytherin for the approval of an old meddler. 

With a furtive glance at the clock, which told him it was half-past seven, he went downstairs for breakfast. 

Dudley was already in the living room, watching a cartoon on the television. Harry had never quite grasped how looking at a screen could be enjoyable, but then again, the other boy wasn't able to do magic. His cousin had lost quite a lot of weight in the past couple of years, mainly because Petunia wasn't willing to force Harry to do chores anymore.

When the muggle boy saw Harry, he almost jumped out of his seat in terror. It hadn't been long since his last ‘reminder’, Harry thought, of course he's wary. He raised an eyebrow anyway, and Dudley shrunk back into the fabric of the sofa. It wasn't like he was going to do anything unpleasant (for the muggles) today, but he found his cousins faces amusing. 

As if she thought she had any power over the young wizard, Petunia strode into the room, but faltered when Harry shot her a glare.

“Breakfast is ready!” she said, faux-cheerfully. The muggle woman was obsessed with looking like she had the perfect family, despite being almost as terrified as her son of Harry. If she hadn't been obsessed with her reputation before her husband’s death, the young wizard would've assumed that she'd gone insane in her grief. 

A few seconds later, Harry was sat down in the kitchen, eating bacon and eggs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his aunt scoop more food onto her beloved son’s plate, but for once he didn't care. Today, he would finally get his letter. 

 

* * *

To the ordinary eye, number four, Privet Drive looked like every other house on the street. It had the same red brick walls and neatly trimmed hedges as the one next door. The flowerbeds were nearly pruned, and the garden had been cleared of weeds. If you only looked at a photograph of this house, you wouldn't notice anything strange at all. 

There was though. To those with the rare gift of being able to sense the flavour and intensity of magic, the house had something crushing about it. Power hung heavy in the air itself, suffocatingly thick and dark. The sheer concentration of it made the air colder, and even muggles found themselves with breaths held tight. There was something suspicious lurking within the suburban House, but nobody trusted their instincts enough to investigate.

Albus Dumbledore picked up on it immediately.

It felt like ink, thick and strong. Like a maze without an exit. It twisted, swirling around him, intent on devouring his own aura. Although he wasn’t particularly magic-sensitive, the old professor could sense the dark haze surrounding the Dursley property, and he shuddered. The closest thing he’d ever experienced to this magic was an incredibly dark artifact that ripped the holder’s intestines apart with great cruelty.

The memory filled Albus with foreboding. There was no reason why an ordinary house would - could, even - have that stench of death surround it. Even Voldemort at the peak of his power hadn’t had such an overpowering darkness to him. The headmaster grimaced, theories already assembling themselves in his mind. Despite being wrong for the most part, they were all terrifying concepts. 

What if a dark wizard had found the savior of the wizarding world? 

Just as quickly as the surge of magic had flared up it had shrunk back down again, as Albus rang the doorbell. Later, he would wonder whether that was purposeful. The ink was replaced with sickeningly sweet peppermint, average for a child and perfectly light. 

A woman had entered the door. Lily’s muggle sister. Her face had been fixed in a joyful smile until she saw the old wizard’s colourful robes and long beard, after which it warped into a grimace. She still hadn't got over her sister’s magical advantage, even after about twenty years, then. What a pity, thought Albus. 

“We don't need your kind here,” she snarled, by way of greeting. Despite her anger, she kept her voice soft, for some reason. 

A voice from inside the house cut her off. “Remember what I said, Petunia?” it asked, and, almost as an afterthought, “Welcome him in.”

Alarm bells went off in the wizard’s head, but he elected to ignore them. Nothing could go wrong. It was just a child. The dark magic was just a figment of his imagination, a product of old age. Never mind the shiver that ran down his spine, or the boy’s aunt’s strange behavior. There was no reason why he should fear. 

So, why did he?

Petunia gave him a snappy word of welcome and led him inside, into a comfortable looking room. The walls were covered in certificates, all of the older ones addressed to ‘Dudley Dursley’ and the newer ones reading ‘Harry Potter’. Dudley’s ones were all sporting achievements, whilst Harry's were more academic. Family photos were scattered throughout the room, all of them containing a chubby boy and very few containing the slimmer, dark haired one. Dudley’s certificates were all dusted and shining, whilst Harry's hadn't been polished in some time. 

Beside a lamp that emitted warm coloured light, the slimmer boy sat in an armchair, reading a large book of muggle origin. He didn't bother to look up as the headmaster walked into the room, followed shortly by Petunia, who had a sour look on her face.

“Are you Harry Potter?” asked Albus. 

The boy set his book down on the coffee table, but not before marking his place for later. “No, I'm the Queen of England,” he said sarcastically, smiling as he did so. There was something odd about that smile. He gave a light laugh, then he seemed to become more serious. “I am, actually.” he said in response to the old wizard’s question. 

“Do you know why I'm here?”

The young boy looked up at him. “You're here because I’m a wizard.” It wasn't a question.

Albus realised that the boy didn't particularly look like he had imagined. There wasn't even a scar on his forehead, Circe be damned. In fact, he didn't seem to act like a normal eleven year old should. There was something in his manner that seemed odd , but he was wasn't sure what it was. There was something about him that reminded Albus of another boy - but he rejected that thought quickly.

Harry was the savior of the wizarding world, and apparently a child genius. He wasn't going to be anything like the other one. That would never happen. Still, he would have to make sure to keep an eye on the boy, just in case he-

A wave of peppermint magic rolled over the old wizard, and he calmed. What was he thinking? Harry Potter was just another wizarding child. There was nothing to be afraid of. The boy was smart, that was all. He would be a good savior for magical Britain. 

“You already know?” he asked. 

Harry looked amused, but Albus didn't catch it. “Too many strange things have happened for it to be a coincidence,” he said, “so, I asked Petunia, and she told me all about my mother being a witch. It did explain a lot, actually.

“Have you done any accidental magic? ” Albus asked. 

“Accidental?” the boy responded, raising one eyebrow, “It’s fairly easy to control, isn't it?”

If Albus was eating one of his favourite sweets, he would've spat it out. He didn't want a repeat of last time. He couldn't come with a repeat of last time. He -

Peppermint waves. What was he thinking again? 

“I can do a lot of things,” Harry said, seemingly proud of himself, “Floating things is easy, and I can set things on fire. Oh, and I can teleport if I concentrate hard enough.”

The almost-permanent twinkle in the old wizard’s eyes vanished. He had expected the boy to be just as inexperienced as any of the other children who would be starting Hogwarts, but it seemed like he had managed to teach himself wandless, wordless magic, without the instruction of a teacher. Of course, this was the child who defeated Voldemort, so Albus guessed that more surprises were to come. 

“Will I be going to magic school, just like my mother did?” Harry asked, abruptly changing the subject. 

The headmaster smiled at his memories of Lily. She had been a good girl, and an even better witch. Harry seemed to have similar eyes to her, but they weren't exactly the same. Albus hoped that the boy would inherit her caring nature as well. 

His reply was quicker this time. “That's why I’m here, Harry,” he said, a twinkle in his eye, “You've been accepted into Hogwarts.”

“That's great!” Harry said enthusiastically, “But where am I going to get my books?”

Albus was happy to tell him all about Diagon Alley, unaware that the young boy was leading the conversation. He didn't even notice the smirk on Harry's face when he told him about some of the things magic could do, and if he had, he would've just assumed that he was glad to learn more about the wizarding world. 

 

* * *

 

The Knight Bus zoomed through the streets of London. Harry felt sick. He had never liked muggle public transport, but soon realised that the magical type was far worse. 

Convincing Dumbledore that he was an ordinary child was no mere feat, even with the use of strong compulsion charms. Hiding his dark aura had been harder, but with the help of one of the rarer books he had bought, he had managed to make his magic seem sweeter than one of Dudley’s raids of the confectionery aisle. The headmaster was always going to be a sceptic, and would find out soon enough about Harry's true nature, but Tom wasn't sure what the old wizard would do if he discovered before Harry had made any allies. Despite being utterly taboo, Dumbledore would easily be able to cast long-lasting compulsions on the boy-who-lived, or perhaps somehow get rid of him altogether. 

The latter was a bit extreme, but not entirely impossible. There were plenty of fast acting death curses that wouldn't get you sent to Azkaban. Harry knew three. He'd practiced on spiders, and the muggle postman (he'd had his reasons). 

It took every fibre of his being not to boast to the meddling wizard about his magical powers. Even the ‘great’ Albus Dumbledore wasn't able to do what he could at the age of eleven. Tom said that Voldemort was almost as good as Harry was as an eleven year old. Harry wondered where Tom had got his sources. 

What Harry found interesting was that Dumbledore hadn’t said anything about his scar, or lack thereof. Perhaps he had noticed, but decided not to say anything. It was strange. 

There was a slight problem, the boy realised, with going to Diagon Alley. He was a frequent visitor to many wizarding shops, but he didn't want the headmaster to know that. If he did, Harry's thought-out ruse would be impossible to maintain. As much as it tired him to constantly cast wordless compulsions, he supposed that he would have to. If any of the shop owners let slip what he had previously bought, he would be expelled before the term even started. Neither he nor Tom would be happy about that.

The knight bus flew over a bump in the road, and Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden bout of nausea. Dumbledore, “Isn’t there a spell someone could do to stop that from happening?” he complained. Despite being much better than muggles, wizards still had absolutely no common sense. The next time he was forced to take the bus, Harry thought, he was going to make sure to fix that. Wasn’t magic supposed to make everything a lot more pleasant?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a good chapter length? Are you enjoying the story? Do you have any suggestions or writing tips?  
> Send me a comment!  
> Hopefully, my writing style will improve soon...

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! Next chapter, everything really starts, so make sure you don't miss it!  
> Any writing tips will be appreciated! Tell me what you think!


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